


protect me so i won’t lose that light

by hyojong



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pentagon, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:06:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyojong/pseuds/hyojong
Summary: Hongseok is just playing the 'good friend' position, really. He just helps out whenever Jinho catches somebody's eye and they come on too strong, carefully guiding (guarding) his small body as they remove themselves from the situation at hand.No strings attached....Really.





	protect me so i won’t lose that light

It’s Hongseok's idea, and that in itself should be a warning.

Thing is, though, that it starts at the club, and Jinho is kind of tipsy at the time. Not the kind of tipsy where the ground sways beneath his feet, but the kind of tipsy where all lights are really pretty, as in extra bright with the pale ghost of a halo around them. Also, Jinho has been trying to convey his distinct lack of interest in a fuck for at least ten minutes, and yet, he’s still trapped in a conversation that started when he really just meant to get another round of shots from Hwitaek, who’s the equivalent of a whirlwind behind the counter.

Anyway, yes. So that’s what leads up to it: conversation; trapped; guy with slicked-back hair and sparkling ear studs who can’t take a hint. And then -- well. And then Hongseok swoops in, drapes an arm around Jinho's waist and pecks the corner of his mouth.

Which... Um. That’s a bit closer to a real kiss than they usually come?

Jinho is still blinking when Hongseok glances at the guy, as if noticing him only just now. “Oh, hey,” Hongseok says, all polite disinterest, and turns right back to leer at Jinho. “Babe, how about we head on home? You know, with studying and all, I haven’t had nearly enough time to appreciate you. Properly, I mean.”

Apparently, Hongseok's suggestive tone is all it takes to startle the guy into a flustered exit. In his wake, Hongseok blesses Jinho with one of those grins that make his eyes sparkle, tiny crinkles appearing at the corners.

“Um,” Jinho says, in a stunning show of eloquence.

“You’re too nice, you know.” Hongseok's grin widens as he nudges Jinho's hand. “I could tell he was bothering you from all the way across the room. Any normal person would have said thanks, but no thanks about three hours ago.”

“I know.” With a sigh, Jinho links their arms together, resting his head on Hongseok’s arm. His vision is glowing around the edges. “Just don’t want to hurt anyone, though. Like, rejection is never nice, right?”

Hongseok gives Jinho a long, considering look. Then his mouth quirks up into a smirk. “Good thing you’ve got me, then.”

 

 

 

So, alright. In theory, it sounds both easy and convenient to have Hongseok play the role of his boyfriend whenever Jinho can’t bring himself to turn someone down. In practice, it’s becoming a problem. Because maybe, just maybe Jinho is starting to deliberately put himself into the kind of situations where Hongseok will feel obliged to interfere.

Maybe. Quite possibly.

Like when Jinho notices some guy who’s been watching him all night sidle closer on the dance floor, and Jinho could escape and doesn’t.

Like when a new barista at their regular coffee shop offers him a cupcake on the house, and he accepts it happily, only to then tuck one hand into the back pocket of Hongseok's stupidly tight trousers. Just so, like, no one gets the wrong idea, okay? That would suck, what with how this place is kind of a fixture in their studying schedule.

Like when there’s a party at the flat Hyunggu and Yuto share, and Jinho doesn’t head the other way upon spotting a girl from his English course who doesn’t seem to understand that he’s very much gay. He tells himself it’s in everyone’s interest, really, if she witnesses some first-hand evidence. Just establishing some ground facts, right? Right.

Thus, it’s logical that, when Hongseok leans in to kiss Jinho's cheek, Jinho turns his head for a delicate brush of their lips.

Logical. Yes.

And, like, on the topic of things which are logical, Jinho is fully aware that Hongseok is a good actor, as in, is studying drama and wants to teach it to little kids. Hongseok is an actor, and it’s obviously calculated, the way he is staring at Jinho's mouth after they’ve pulled apart, as though he’s breathless with the thought of moving back in for another, deeper kiss. They’re friends, though, have been ever since Hwitaek and Hongseok inexplicably picked Jinho from amongst what must have been a slew of older, much cooler students vying for a room in their shared flat.

Come to think of it, that stroke of luck might be down to Jinho spontaneously whipping up some breakfast for the three of them. At four in the afternoon.

“So, who was that?” Hongseok asks, one hand curled around Jinho's waist, his thumb dipping underneath Jinho's t-shirt to create a spot of warm pressure on Jinho's skin.

Jinho shrugs. “Girl from one of my seminars, is all.”

“Ah. And I assume you’ve been your usual, accidentally charming, morbid-spoken self, and she took that out of context.” Hongseok nods, and his hand stays right where it is. He offers his beer to Jinho, and Jinho accepts it with a smile, his imagination tricking him into the momentary illusion that Hongseok is watching when Jinho rolls the bottle against his hot cheek, condensation cool on his skin.

He drags it over his neck, and Hongseok's gaze tracks the motion.

But, no. Doesn’t mean anything. After all, Jinho pretty much accepted that Hongseok is out of his league two minutes into their first meeting. It isn’t something that keeps him up at night. He’s not going to throw away his first year at university on hopelessly pining for someone, not even if that someone is Hongseok.

Which is why this whole concept of Hongseok posing as his occasional boyfriend is a monumentally bad idea, and Jinho should get out while he still can. Instead, he takes a sip and passes the beer back, lets their fingers tangle around the bottle for just a second. Then he lets go.

 

 

 

Jinho's hangover is very real and very immediate. Fortunately, so is the bacon he’s frying in a pan, meagre leftovers from a late-night snack after they'd returned home.

The hissing sound of frying butter granulates his thoughts.

It stops when he flicks off the cooker, blessed silence easing the pressure behind his forehead. Carrying the pan over to the table, Jinho lets Hongseok handle the distribution over three plates; as someone blessed with plenty of sisters, Hongseok knows all about fairness when it comes to splitting insufficient supplies. He'd be a good person to manage a limited food stock in case of a zombie apocalypse, what with his keen sense of justice and his unerring loyalty.

Also, Jinho should not have let Hongseok drag him into watching Train to Busan. Bad idea, utterly bad idea. On the plus side, though, it provides an excuse for cuddles, for snuggling into Hongseok's bed with the duvet thrown over both of them, Hongseok knocking their hands together each time Jinho flinches. Which happens a lot, admittedly, because Jinho is a sissy when it comes to this sort of thing. Hongseok is kind enough not to tease him about it. Not too much, anyway.

Wow, Jinho's head really does hurt, and his brain is sort of spinning in his skull.

Squeezing onto one chair with Hongseok, his body hanging half off the seat, Jinho props both elbows on the table and waits -- not only for his ration of bacon, though that would be nice, but also for the painkillers to kick in. Since Hongseok made him swallow two pills right after Jinho stumbled out of his room, the effect should kick in any moment now. Please.

On a different note, Hongseok smells really nice and freshly showered. Jinho leans further into his side.

There’s also Hwitaek at the table, of course, but that’s a secondary observation when Hongseok's thigh is firm and warm against Jinho's own. Right now, it’s a bit of a sensation overload that makes Jinho's skin feel oddly tight and uncomfortable.

They should really look into getting that third kitchen chair they've been talking about ever since Jinho moved in, which was, like, half a year ago. No one can be bothered to put any effort into it, though; it usually works just fine with Hwitaek balanced on the rickety chair the previous tenants left behind, and Jinho and Hongseok sharing the sturdy wood chair that originated from a neighbour cleaning out her basement.

Usually, Jinho doesn't mind sharing. Just, like, right now---Christ. His defences are brittle from the unholy trinity that is lack of sleep, after-effects of alcohol, and a dry spell that's coming up on two months now. It’s a bit weird, that last one, a stark contrast to his first few months at uni, but oh well. Shit happens.

When Hongseok slides a plate in front of him, Jinho glances up with a vague smile that makes his head pound. “Thanks,” he mumbles. His voice sounds rusty, rusty like the metal frame of their tiny bathroom window that refuses to open.

Hongseok smiles back, and the room rearranges itself around them. Or something to that effect; it’s a little nauseating. “Nah, hey. Thank you for making us the only breakfast I can stomach right now.”

From across the table, Hwitaek sighs. “Stop putting me off my food, you two.”

As if, Jinho thinks. A beat later, time that is measured by the pulsing rhythm behind Jinho's forehead, Hongseok says just that.

“As if. Nothing puts you off your food. You’re not even hungover, it’s blasphemy.” He picks up his fork and presses his thigh more insistently against Jinho's. Somehow, it kind of calms the headache nudging against the backs of Jinho's eyes -- might be the ibuprofen flowing through his bloodstream. “What good is drinking if you escape the punishment?”

“Not a sucker for pain, myself.” Hwitaek smiles widely, showing a whole lot of teeth. Just looking at him hurts Jinho's head. “Think I should put some music on, what do you say? SHINee sound good to you?”

“Well, I say,” Hongseok turns his head to look at Jinho, inches of dizzy space separating their mouths, “we kill him. I watched two seasons of Good Doctor, I’m practically a pro.”

Jinho blinks, swallows, and shifts away to reach for his fork. It’s honestly not always this bad, this thing with Hongseok. Just, with the hangover, and Jinho's thoughts lagging like a film that’s out of sync... Ah, fuck it.

“A guest room would be kind of cool,” he answers slowly. “And, like, two chairs for two people, that makes sense.”

“Hey.” The line of Hongseok's upper arm comes to rest against Jinho's side. “I don’t mind sharing, are you saying you mind sharing? Are you calling me fat, Jinho?”

Jinho bites back a comment about how Hongseok's ass is quite substantial. Like, in the best way. That comment would not go down so well, though, and also, this is clearly Hongseok fishing for compliments because Hongseok is gorgeous, and everyone knows it. Hongseok knows it.

“Just, I mean. No.” Buying some time by popping a slice of bacon into his mouth, Jinho flushes under Hongseok's expectant gaze. He chews thoroughly, then licks salty grease off his lips. Hongseok finally looks away, and Jinho clears his throat. “And I don’t mind sharing, really. But it might not be so bad if both of us could fit more than one bum cheek onto the seat? Which, since it’s made for one person, you know, and... Yeah. I really don’t mind sharing, though.”

Hongseok is back to studying him, one of his elegantly curved eyebrows cocked high, and Jinho fights not to squirm. It does not, does not help that he still feels faintly queasy, and that the fabric of Hongseok's jogging bottoms is rough against Jinho's thigh, where his boxer briefs end to leave his skin bare.

He wishes he had a poker face. If the ground were to open up and swallow him whole, spit him back out in Australia, that would be okay. At least the embarrassed heat creeping up the back of his neck is taking the edge off his headache.

He should not have worn boxer briefs into the kitchen, not when he’d known he would be squished onto one chair with Hongseok. Rarely a good idea. Jinho should know better, by now.

“Jesus,” Hwitaek interjects, with the air of someone suffering at the hands of a torture master. “Y’know, when we picked Jinho from the, like, fifty people who wanted the room, I didn’t sign up for choking on all this sexual tension. It’s enough to make me itchy, so for fuck’s sake, do something about it.”

Alright then, ground, Jinho would like to be swallowed, and preferably now. Any moment, okay? Ready when you are.

Tragically, the ground does not comply.

Jinho is careful not to look at Hongseok, also careful not to notice the way Hongseok has gone still beside him. Really, Hwitaek is being a bit of an ass right now. It's true that Jinho may have confessed, at length and during a drunken ramble, that he sometimes thinks about kissing Hongseok. Like, a lot. On the cheek and on the mouth, on the joint between shoulder and neck, on the tummy. On the dick, too.

But, like. Jinho had been drunk, and nothing he'd said can be used against him. That's a rule between all friends who get shit-faced together, isn't it? No need for Hwitaek to blow the whole thing out of proportion.

Since the silence is mildly strained, Jinho bites the inside of his cheek before he asks the first thing that comes to mind. "Fifty? Really, there were fifty people?"

"You're totally missing the point here, mate," Hwitaek says. Jinho tries to shoot him a glare, only that makes his eyes feel all tired and swollen.

"Thirty-seven," Hongseok answers in Hwitaek's stead. "Not fifty. Still, fairly strong competition. That one guy tried to bribe us with promises of a fancy coffee machine, remember?"

The tension has drained from Hongseok's muscles. His shoulder rests gently against Jinho's, a warm point of contact that settles Jinho's blood, and really, someone tried to bribe them with a coffee machine? Good thing both Hongseok and Hwitaek prefer tea, and thus didn't choose that person over Jinho. He doesn't even want to think about how different his life would be, how he'd have a completely different circle of friends.

"Then I'm really glad you picked me," he tells his plate. "Even though I'm an undergrad and all, and probably not as cool as some of the other people you could have chosen."

"Hey, now." Hongseok's voice has gone soft and low, and Jinho hates when it does that. Mostly because it's disorientating to have all that attention focused on him, like sunshine swimming through his intestines.

When Hongseok reaches over to tip his chin up, forcing Jinho to look at him, Jinho reminds himself to keep his gaze steady. No blushing, either. "Where did that come from?" Hongseok asks, still so very gentle. "None of that self-deprecating stuff in my presence, got it?"

"I just meant that... You know. You could have picked someone who didn't just move out from their parents’." Jinho doesn't squirm, he does not. Shut up. "And, like, has been living here for a while, so they'd have lots of friends already, and---"

"Question is, though," Hwitaek interrupts. "Would they make us breakfast every morning?"

Hongseok nods, demonstratively thoughtful. His fingertips are light against Jinho's jaw. "Not to mention cuddles. Would they let me cuddle them on the regular? Or do my laundry? Geek out over Produce 101 with us? Question upon question."

"Maybe not." Jinho's smile feels stretched too thin over his face, but the pounding in his head is starting to subside.

"See? You're our kind of cool." On his way to the fridge, Hwitaek hugs Jinho from behind, and while it's lovely, it also results in Hongseok dropping his hand. That's a little bit of a shame.

"Kind of cute, too," Hongseok supplies, turning back to his food. "I think we'll keep him. Right, Hwitaek?"

Cute, yeah. It's not the first time Hongseok has said it, that he thinks Jinho is cute -- cute like a kitten that chews on your shoes, cute like giggling babies are cute, cute like everyone’s favourite Disney princesses rolled into one. He’s said so, on more than one occasion.

Cute. Which is about the opposite of hot, as far as you can get from I want to put my hands and mouth all over you, I want you, want you.

It's fine, though. Out of the corner of his eye, Jinho catches Hongseok smiling at him, and he smiles back without much thought.

 

 

 

"Come on." Shinwon spreads his fingers wide, his grin bright and his hip propped against the desk. Behind them, the seminar room is emptying out. "I'd give you extra credit, even. Just try it."

"I don't think you're allowed to give me extra credit for co-hosting a uni radio show, are you?" With a huffed laugh, Jinho brushes tangled hair off his forehead. "And really, no. I don't think I'd make for a good host. I get, like, really rambly, you know."

Shinwon pushes away from the desk. "First off, you have the kind of voice that would work beautifully in a radio setting. Soothing and pleasant. You could be reading the phone book, for all that people will care. And secondly..." His gaze flickers past Jinho before it snags back to his face. "Secondly, this is a media seminar, and as your tutor, reporting back on your work effort is part of my duties."

Jinho is about to reply when an arm snakes around his waist, fingers dipping underneath the bottom of his jumper. "Hey, babe," Hongseok says quietly, holding out a paper cup that smells like bitter herbs and honey. "Thought I'd pick you up for our study session. I come bearing tea."

Automatically, Jinho leans into him. He sees Shinwon's attention focus on where Hongseok's hand is curled against Jinho's waist, and oh, wait, is this Hongseok doing the whole fake boyfriend thing? That's not really necessary, but hey, Jinho isn't about to look a gift tea in the mouth. Or something to that effect. Look a gift tea in the leaves?

Jinho's proverbs are not at their best, and he blames the distraction Hongseok provides. In the brightness of a spring afternoon, sunlight flooding the room, Hongseok's eyes are a sharp, clear blue.

"Hiya, Shinwon," Hongseok adds, rather belatedly.

"Hongseok, how's it going?" Shinwon nods at him, shoving both hands into the pockets of his black, skinny jeans.

"Going good," Hongseok tells Shinwon, followed by a toothy smile and his grip tightening on Jinho's waist. "You?"

Over the rim of the paper cup, Jinho gives Hongseok a skeptical look. Honestly, there's no need for Hongseok to turn protective over a perfectly normal conversation -- it's just Shinwon, after all. He’s a friend of sorts, enough so that Jinho invited him to their last flat party. Certainly not a random person Jinho can’t quite manage to turn down.

For all that Shinwon is Jinho's TA, he always appears like another student to Jinho, probably something to do with how Shinwon made an enthusiastic attempt to recruit Jinho for the uni radio station at the information day for new students, when Jinho didn’t have any idea he was talking to his future tutor. Of course, there's also the fact that Shinwon is a fan of hosting special, voluntary side sessions at his flat; the one where they pulled an all-nighter to start a Twitter trend was a lot of fun, and not just because he asked everyone to bring alcohol and snacks.

"Oh,”Shinwon says airily. “You know, working on my dissertation. But I suppose not everyone's cut out for a career in academics." His grin holds a challenge, and Hongseok nods, still smiling rather too widely.

"Right, I guess that's the kind of respectable thing you should do when you're going on twenty-three.”

None too subtly, Jinho steps on Hongseok's foot and gives Shinwon an apologetic smile. "Ignore him, please. He hasn't had his daily dose of sugar."

"Or sex," Hongseok inserts, voice dripping innuendo, and Jinho ignores the hot twist in his belly.

Really, Hongseok is being a bit of a dick, seeing as he’d heard Shinwon’s confession that there was something terrifying about the thought of growing older, the inevitability of it. It had been at some point late into the night, early in the morning, and they’d all been sprawled on the living room floor, draped over each other with Jinho's feet in Hongseok's lap and his head on Shinwon’s shoulder, Yuto and Hyunggu making out somewhere nearby, Hwitaek strumming his guitar, Changgu singing along quietly, a straggle of leftover party guests scattered around them.

Hongseok, of all people, should understand. When his dad had left the family, he had been thrown into a position of responsibility for his younger sisters, and sometimes, Jinho suspects that Hongseok is trying to make up for lost time by celebrating random moments of teenage rebellion now, at twenty-six.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since the last time Jinho has been on the wrong end of a prank. He might want to be on his guard. Then again, it’s perfectly possible that Hongseok considers the whole fake boyfriend thing a beautiful joke played on the world.

He would. Also, it could explain the rather pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jinho shouldn’t indulge him, especially not when he’s being a little shit. It’s Hongseok, though, so of course Jinho doesn’t step away.

“Since when are you guys together?” Shinwon asks, narrowing his eyes as though he sees right through their bullshit. Since Jinho is the worst actor in the history of mankind, he ducks his head over his tea, blowing across the surface of the hot liquid, and lets Hongseok handle that one.

Handling it includes, apparently, a ridiculously saccharine story about them wooing each other with roses and tea and pancakes.

Hongseok is having way too much fun with this. Way, way too much fun. If Shinwon had met Hongseok more than once, he’d know that Hongseok is anything but the type to woo anyone, but... Oh, whatever, it’s seriously ridiculous. Jinho tries not to flush when Hongseok hooks his thumb in the waistband of Jinho's jeans, fingertip touching bare skin.

“Anyway,” Hongseok finishes loudly, tugging Jinho closer. “Wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time, Shinwon. I’m sure you must be off to do mature adult things.”

Under the pretense of wrapping his free arm around Hongseok's shoulders, Jinho pinches the inside of Hongseok's arm. He also tries to lighten the frown on Shinwon’s face by promising to consider the whole radio show thing, really, but they still part on a strained note when they set off in different directions down the corridor.

Jinho takes another sip of his tea -- just the way he likes it, with lots of honey and no sugar -- and waits for Shinwon to disappear around the corner before he hip-checks Hongseok. Their steps echo in the long corridor, the stone tiles under their feet laid out like a chessboard. “Hey, was that necessary?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted him to hit on you.” Hongseok's arm has yet to unwind from around Jinho's middle. It’s faintly distracting.

“He’s not that old, I’m older.” Jinho says. “And anyway, I don’t mean the...” The thing where you pretend to be my boyfriend and I like it more than I should.“The fake dating thing, which is stupid. I mean, it’s just Shinwon, you know?”

“Just Shinwon?” Hongseok's tone is faintly edged. “Well, then just Shinwon was hitting on you.”

“He’s my tutor,” Jinho counters. The corridor is washed in dim light that shrouds Hongseok's features in softness, veils the dusting of stubble on his chin. “And we were talking about the uni radio, so really, why are you so---Anyway. What I meant was you being all... rubbing the age thing in his face, that wasn’t nice. Not with what he told us at our party.”

“I never claimed to be nice.” Hongseok steers them around a corner and towards the library, his bag swinging with each step, bumping against Jinho's side.

“But Shinwon’s never done anything to you. You hardly even know him.” The tea is hot on Jinho's tongue, and after he spills a few drops down his front, he pulls them both to a halt. He takes a cautious sip while Hongseok watches him.

“Let us just say...” Trailing off, Hongseok finally removes his arm in favour of adjusting the strap of his bag. He assesses Jinho with a quick glance, the kind of look that usually precedes Hongseok taking a clever risk that could get him into trouble. A stubborn grin flashes over his face. “Let’s just say that Shinwon and I share a mutually exclusive interest.”

Okay, Jinho is so not in the mood for Hongseok's guessing games, not when Hongseok had acted like a bit of a dick. Also, they actually should get some studying done before Hongseok heads off to his second shift at his new bartending job at the Irish pub, courtesy of his connection to Hwitaek.

Jinho decidedly does not think about how Hongseok had returned from his first shift all happy and energetic, rambling about how he was pretty much paid to flirt with the clientele, and how it just might be the first job he’d be able to hold down.

After all, Jinho doesn’t care if Hongseok flirts with random strangers.

“A mutually exclusive interest?” Jinho repeats, with a shake of his head. He rolls another sip of tea around his mouth, the sweetness settling in his blood. “What, like, being the funniest person in the room? Talk properly to me, okay?”

For a long second, Hongseok studies him. Then he gives a sharp laugh, a note of derision swinging in it that makes Jinho's stomach drop. “Trust me,” Hongseok tells him, “Shinwon was definitely hitting on you. You’re just thick, sometimes.”

“Hey,” Jinho protests, kicking Hongseok's foot. He waits for Hongseok start grinning, turn the whole thing into a joke, but Hongseok doesn’t. Instead, he nods his chin towards the library, gaze sliding past Jinho.

“Study now?”

“Alright,” Jinho says. He trundles after Hongseok with a strangely tight sensation clamped around his chest.

 

 

 

They’re not fighting, really. They’re not.

True, they’re kind of skirting around each other, their time together reduced to brief run-ins between kitchen and bathroom due to how Hongseok spends a lot of time holed up in his room. It’s probably nothing, though. Hongseok gets weird around exam times, develops a single-minded focus that took Jinho by surprise the first time he witnessed it, when the winter term spiralled into its final stretch of exams and Hongseok became a bundle of snappy comments that Jinho took personally.

At least until a joint effort by Hwitaek and Jinho forced Hongseok out of his room and into the kitchen, all of them huddled on the floor with a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses. Four shots in, Hongseok dissolved into a tangle of fluttering nerves over losing his scholarship in case his grades didn’t match up with expectations.

So, yeah. This is exactly like that first time, even if there are still two weeks to go before Hongseok's exams start. They’re not fighting.

Probably.

 

 

 

On day four of Hongseok maybe, possibly avoiding Jinho, a third chair suddenly shows up in the kitchen.

Okay. So they are fighting.

Which is wholly unfair, because Hongseok had been a dick when talking to Shinwon. Hongseok, not Jinho. So it's absolutely out of the blue that Hongseok is now acting as though he was wronged, somehow.

Whatever. Whatever.

 

 

 

Tradition demands that on nights when Changgu plays one of his gigs, anything else is put aside, be it darkly looming exams, visiting family members, or differences of opinion. The uniting power of music and all.

To this day, Jinho is proud that he's the one who happened across a street performance by Changgu, and subsequently dragged him into their circle. Never let it be said that keeping Jinho around hasn't paid off for the others. "I did that," he declares. "Me, me, me."

"Hongseok is rubbing off on you." Yuto is strolling next to Jinho with both hands in his leather jacket and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Yuto is cool, and don't you forget it.

Also, ha, Jinho wishes Hongseok was rubbing off on him. Like that.

Funnily enough, this is precisely the sort of pun which would make Hongseok roll his eyes and pretend that there isn't a fond smile quirking his mouth -- well, at least if Hongseok were currently talking to Jinho, and if Jinho felt confident enough to make sexual innuendos around Hongseok.

"Whatever," Jinho says softly. They've almost reached the queue for the club, laughter drifting through the darkness, someone shouting about a lighter, my kingdom for a lighter. Each time the door opens to allow people inside, music spills onto the street.

Leaning forward to peer around Yuto, Hyunggu gives Jinho a confused look. Yuto reacts first, though, bumping elbows with Jinho. "What's with that tone, Jinho?"

"Nothing," Jinho mutters. He stares at his boots, glittering faintly in the light of a street lamp. "Just, Hongseokis mad at me for some reason. No idea why."

"Mad at you?" Hyunggu's tone implies that the idea is ridiculous. "Nah, come on."

"It's true, though," Jinho says. When he glances back, he catches sight of Hongseok and Hwitaek walking close together, Hongseok's smile thin while Hwitaek laughs in that wild, unrestrained way he has.

When Hongseok looks up, Jinho faces forward again.

This is Changgu’s night, so it’s the wrong time for a confrontation. Anyway, Jinho isn't about to come crawling for an explanation when he didn't even do anything. He'd like an explanation, sure, but if that's how easily Hongseok shuts Jinho out, then---then that sucks. It really does.

He’s silent when Hongseok and Hwitaek catch up as they all join the queue. The strain is painfully obvious in how Hongseok would usually carry most of the conversation, get into random discussions with strangers and ensure their group is the life of every party; right now, he’s scanning his surroundings with a skeptical expression, and when his gaze flickers towards Jinho, it’s too quickly for Jinho to look away.

For a second, they stare at each other from opposite ends of their huddled group. That, too, is different. Any other night, they’d be right next to each other, touching in some way.

“So,” Hwitaek says loudly. He claps his hands. “Who’s up for some shots?”

“Definitely,” Jinho replies, and if he happens to follow it up with a pointed glare at Hongseok, so be it. Hey, Hongseok started it. The least Jinho can do is play along and ignore the tired weight in his bones, the pressure behind his ribcage.

He can do that.

 

 

 

So that whole, like---that alcohol thing, that’s really working out for Jinho. Brilliant. Like with the way everything is shiny, and Changgu’s voice is like velvet in the night, shimmering and soft and warm, and the air is really warm, too.

There’s also another body, and that’s three times warm now, warm body like that movie, the one with the zombie who fell in love with some girl. That was called Warm Bodies, wasn’t it? And warm is good, because Hongseok is mad at Jinho, and when Hongseok is mad at Jinho, it makes Jinho's organs feel all cold and shrunken.

Warm bodies are good, yeah. Good like alcohol is good.

Jinho presses back a little, and it’s dark, and the club is crowded. Everything smells of sweat and beer and antiperspirant. It’s cool, Jinho totally doesn’t need Hongseok. No way, no how. He’ll just end his dry spell tonight, and it’ll be awesome, and why the fuck would he care if Hongseok is mad at him? ‘Cause he doesn’t. Really, really doesn’t. And if he repeats it lots, it’s because it’s so true, not because he’s trying to convince himself. No.

Also, huh. There’s a wet mouth against the side of his neck. That’s... fine. Yeah. Jinho wants this, he does. He wants this really very much, just like he really very much doesn’t care about Hongseok being mad at him.

He turns his head a little, and it’s kind of like whiplash, the way the room spins around him. Does a spinning room mean, like, whiplash? Can it?

Wait, can it what? What?

Anyway, what, why is there a hand groping at his hip? He didn’t---no, okay, he kind of did encourage that, what with the whole moving into it thing earlier, and now that Jinho thinks about it, the guy is kind of nice looking. Which is superficial, a superficial... criterium? Thing. A superficial thing to pay attention to, and Jinho isn’t superficial, but with Changgu’s voice like butter in his ears, he’s not about to have a lengthy conversation with this guy, care about personality.

Ew, butter in Jinho's ears. Butter trickling out of his ears, leaving little tracks of grease, and Jinho remembers how just a week ago, he and Hongseok had laughed about the notion of using butter as lube, not even sure how they got to that point. Something about very buttery croissants that Hwitaek called an orgasm in his mouth, and then it all just kind of---Anyway. Jinho isn’t thinking about Hongseok. It’s all about the guy behind him, those long fingers brushing underneath Jinho's t-shirt.

Except then Hongseok is suddenly there, and it’s a bit difficult not to think about Hongseok when he’s right in front of Jinho, like, that’s unfair, isn’t it? Breathing on Jinho's mouth, too.

Warm, warm, Hongseok is the warmest of them all. The fairest of them all. Fairest feather, feathery fringe, and Jinho reaches out to touch it, and why is Hongseok glaring at him when Jinho just wants to touch him?

Oh, but Hongseok isn’t glaring at Jinho, is glaring at some point behind Jinho, which... Right, there’s that guy, only not anymore. Jinho stumbles a little due to the sudden lack of support, bodies pressing in from all sides, pushing him closer to Hongseok.

Hongseok is so very pretty in the flickering, glittering, sparkling dust particles of a mirrorball. They flutter through his hair, like butterflies made of light. It’s fascinating, and Jinho wants to catch one.

“Pretty,” he explains. “Hi.”

Hongseok is watching him with a weird kind of focus. “Think you’re wasted,” he says eventually, and it’s more his lips moving than the actual words reaching Jinho, because there’s noise everywhere, but Jinho is paying attention, is always paying attention to Hongseok. More than he should be.

Too much, too much. He wants to kiss Hongseok too much, wants too much always, and they’re friends and that’s fine.

That’s not fine. It’s not, because Jinho wants to kiss Hongseok. Always and forever.

So he does.

It makes sense, okay, so much sense, everything falling into place when Hongseok's mouth opens and Jinho can lick inside, sparkling particles dancing behind Jinho's lids. Hongseok tastes like smoke and shadows and heat.

Then hands close around Jinho's bicep, push him away sharply, fingers digging in to the point of pain, and oh, oh. Jinho drops his head and breathes around the sudden swell of fire in his veins, the club lights pulsing in his brain, Changgu’s voice twisting around his nerve endings; this feels like falling in love, we’re falling in love.

“Let’s get you home,” Hongseok says, and it’s right into a gap in the song, so this time, Jinho hears him, hears the strange blackness to Hongseok's voice.

Changgu sings, and Jinho is staring at Hongseok, too aware of Hongseok's hands burning through the t-shirt, like little suns, Hongseok is the sun and the heat and the light.

God, Jinho is drunk.

He shakes his head, still feels dizzy. Oh shit, also, he kissed Hongseok. He kissed Hongseok. And he thinks Hongseok kissed back, if only for a few seconds, and Hongseok's mouth was definitely open, but then Hongseok pushed him away.

Jinho kissed Hongseok.

Hongseok pushed him away.

So that’s that.

“Home sounds good,” Jinho says. He wants to crawl into his bed and die. It gets worse when Hongseok's hands slide down to capture Jinho's wrists instead, suddenly gentle, and like, is that pity? Does Hongseok pity him? Yeah, silly undergrad Jinho with his silly, juvenile, hopeless crush.

Hongseok leans in, his mouth so close to Jinho's face, his voice like a summer night. “Come on, then. I’ll take you home, okay?”

Nodding, Jinho drops his gaze to Hongseok's chest, to the patches of sweat darkening Hongseok's white t-shirt. He just wants to be close, just for a minute longer, that’s all. “You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asks.

It takes a second before Hongseok replies, or it might just be the fact that time slip-slithers through Jinho's brain right now. “I was never mad at you.”

Jinho huffs out a sad laugh. “Yeah, you were. Are. I don’t know what I...” His chest is too tight, so he draws another breath. “Don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Hongseok tells him. “Let’s just get you home.”

“I kissed you,” Jinho says, and then he realises that they’re already on the stairs leading up to the street, Hongseok's hand on Jinho's elbow. Hongseok is possibly magic, what with how he transported Jinho from the middle of the room to here. Wow, were those steps that steep on the way down?

Also, Hongseok has yet to react.

“I kissed you,” Jinho repeats. “And I’m not sorry. You can’t make me.”

“No need.” Hongseok's lips curve into a smile, but it’s not his usual kind of bright, is all shadows somehow, shadows and secrets. “I think you’ll be more sorry when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I don’t,” Jinho says. “No, I mean. I won’t. I want. Always wanted to do that. Like, kiss you.”

There are steps, several of them, and Jinho is a little out of breath and a lot unsteady, his balance tied to Hongseok, and to the arm Hongseok has slipped around his waist. But Hongseok isn’t mad at Jinho anymore, not if he’s hugging him. Isn’t mad at Jinho for kissing him, either.

Feeling everything, Jinho thinks. From hate to love, from love to lust.

Then he realises that it’s not him thinking it, that it’s Changgu’s voice calling after them, like tendrils of sunlight. Which makes no sense, but Jinho is drunk, and he kissed Hongseok, but not because he’s drunk.

“Didn’t kiss you because I’m drunk,” he adds. It’s disconcerting, the sudden absence of sound when the club door swings shut behind them. Jinho tilts into Hongseok's side and watches their shoes scuff over the pavement, their steps in time with each other -- like a clock, tick tock, one two three. Right into the space between three and four, Jinho repeats, “Not because I’m drunk. Really not.”

“Prove it, then. Prove it tomorrow morning.” Hongseok's hand settles on Jinho's waist, and Jinho thinks he had a jacket when they arrived, thinks they both had jackets, when now, it’s a little shivery in only their sweaty t-shirts.

“Tomorrow morning?” Jinho asks. “What?” There was something about tomorrow, and the challenge in Hongseok's tone. All the street lamps are wearing halos. Hongseok is glowing, too, his white t-shirt is glowing like a pearl in the darkness.

“Never mind,” Hongseok says, and Jinho nods, because that sounds good. He doesn’t want to mind anything. He wouldn’t mind kissing Hongseok again.

“Did we have jackets?” he asks.

“Hwitaek will pick them up for us.” Hongseok's smile gleams and is gone. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you to bed.”

Babe. Hongseok only calls Jinho babe when he’s posing as his boyfriend, and Jinho doesn’t like it. He wants to be Hongseok's babe always, always, always. Silly, juvenile, hopelesshopelesshopeless crush.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Closes his eyes and tucks his head against Hongseok's shoulder, trusts Hongseok's lead.

“Sorry for what?” Hongseok asks, and Jinho could reply, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort. He’s sorry. Just... sorry. For things. But not for kissing Hongseok. Not for that.

Hongseok is so, so warm, and Jinho sets one foot in front of the other and listens to the silent night raging around them.

 

 

 

Everything is loose and dizzy and weightless. Jinho is floating when the bed dips, floating, floating, but the bed dips and Hongseok.

Blindly, Jinho reaches out, manages to snatch a piece of fabric and mutter, “Stay,” the word like a dream.

Hongseok is still for a moment, still like Jinho's bedroom is frozen around the rotating bed. Maybe Jinho should put a foot on the floor to stop the bed from spinning, that seems like an idea, but his body is too heavy to move.

He’s almost forgotten about his hand fisted in Hongseok's t-shirt when Hongseok stretches out next to him, edging under the duvet. Too far away, definitely, so Jinho tugs him in closer and sighs into Hongseok's hair. The bed is slowing down, and that’s nice. Hongseok is nice, too.

“I really hope you won’t regret any of this in the morning,” Hongseok whispers, and Jinho shakes his head, the tip of his nose dragging back and forth through Hongseok's feathery hair.

“Won’t,” he promises, doesn't even remember what it's about, but it's probably important. Because, like, promise to Hongseok.

With Hongseok taking up all his senses, Jinho pictures how he draws him along, Hongseok following right behind when Jinho falls into the black abyss of dreams. Inseparable.

\--

Jinho wakes up because his skin is burning, stifling hot, his mouth parched. He's about to kick off the duvet when he realises that he's wrapped around Hongseok, crowded up behind him, both arms wound around Hongseok's body. Also, um. Oops.

He inches his hips away from Hongseok's ass, and Hongseok stirs against him. "You awake?" he asks, voice seeming to originate from somewhere far away, dragging with sleep.

"Yeah." Jinho blinks into the brightness of the morning, must have forgotten to close the curtains last night.

Last night.

Oh, shit. "I kissed you last night, didn't I?" he asks.

A decade, a century passes before Hongseok answers. "Yeah, you did." He doesn't sound upset about it, more questioning, cautious, and he also doesn't remove himself from the circle of Jinho's arms. Was Hongseok also drunk? Certainly not as badly as Jinho, because Jinho remembers Hongseok walking him home, making him drink a lot of water before helping him undress, so tender even after Jinho had kissed him and put their friendship at risk. I really hope you won’t regret any of this in the morning.

Oh.

"Not regretting it," Jinho whispers into the absence of space between them, brushes the words against the nape of Hongseok's neck.

Hongseok ducks his head, granting Jinho better access. He exhales slowly, loud in the quiet space of the morning. "You're not still drunk, are you?"

Mouth lingering on Hongseok's skin, Jinho considers this. "No," he says eventually. "Not really hungover either. Think I drank only clear vodka, not all sorts of stuff mixed up. Just a bit tired, is all."

"Okay." Hongseok's voice is quiet, affected. He runs his fingers down Jinho's naked arm, and while Jinho is down to only his boxers, Hongseok is still wearing his t-shirt from the club, and they're both in dire need of a shower. Maybe...

Maybe they could---together?

Jinho is about to suggest something along those lines -- or at least ask a question that Hongseok could choose to interpret as such -- when Hongseok unwinds himself, rolling over to give Jinho a small smile. His eyes are soft. “So, I’m gonna try my hand at breakfast, yeah? And don’t you dare laugh.”

“Breakfast?” Jinho repeats. Um, okay. So no shower, then.

“Breakfast.” Hongseok nods, with the air of someone steeling themselves for a tough job. It might be accurate, seeing as boiling an egg is the closest he’s come to preparing a meal in the entire six months Jinho has been living here.

“Breakfast with, like, actual cooking?” Jinho asks. Sitting up, he scuffs a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to come help?”

Hongseok gives him a look that is three quarters exasperated and one quarter fond. Approximately.

“No,” he says, very slowly and deliberately. “I do not want you to help. I want you to stay right here and wait for me to make you breakfast in bed. Jesus, you make it really hard to woo you, you know that?”

Jinho's stomach relocates to somewhere under the bed. “I---woo me? You’re wooing me?”

“Seem to be doing a pretty poor job of it. Funny, never considered myself subtle before.” With a sigh, Hongseok sits up and reaches over to flick Jinho on the nose, gently so. Jinho is too shaken to move away in time, because what, what? Surely Hongseok isn’t---this is a joke?

“This is a joke,” Jinho says, only Hongseok isn’t cruel, and after Jinho kissed him, he wouldn’t... He’d know not to make a joke like that. Right? When Hongseok remains silent, simply staring at Jinho with a flat expression, Jinho clears his throat. “Is it?”

Hongseok tucks his hands between his thighs. “Do you want it to be?”

Exposed, Jinho feels too damn exposed in only his boxers, with Hongseok all prim and unreadable, watching Jinho with a strange weight to his gaze. No, Jinho does not want it to be a joke. Of course he wants Hongseok to mean it, mean it all and more, and shit, wait, there’s no way Hongseok was joking last night. I really hope you won’t regret any of this in the morning.

The tips of Jinho's fingers are cold, joined by a shivering sensation in his veins. He straightens and makes himself meet Hongseok's eyes. “I don’t want it to be a joke.”

It's marginal, a fragmentary loosening of Hongseok's shoulders, but it's all the confirmation Jinho needs. Right answer, fucking right answer, and then Hongseok laughs sharply. "A joke, oh my God. You thought it was a joke. For fuck's sake, Jinho. Did you miss the part where I pose as your boyfriend so no one else gets to have you?"

“But you---I thought---” Jinho breaks off, heat washing over the back of his neck. “What?”

“Jesus.” As easy as breathing, Hongseok clasps Jinho's wrist. “You honestly did not get my point about how Shinwon and I share a mutually exclusive interest? That’s you.” Hongseok lets it sink in for a moment before he shakes his head, his eyes cheerful, his fingers warm on Jinho's skin. “That interest is you, you, and I thought you---I thought you rejected me.”

“I’d never,” Jinho says quickly, leaning forward, and oh, is this why Hongseok had been so distant? He’d been hurt, Hongseok had been hurt, and Jinho hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own web of thoughts. Shit.

Jinho frees his arm from Hongseok's grip, but only so as to crawl into Hongseok's lap and settle comfortably, knees on either side of Hongseok's hips. Something about the way Hongseok tips his head back and stares at Jinho, his eyes dark and focused, sizzles through Jinho's blood like a reflection of sunlight.

Carefully, almost testing, Hongseok rests both hands on Jinho's waist. His right thumb rubs a small circle into the tattoo on Jinho's hip, letters that spell out ‘Might as well...’ Jinho swallows.

“I’m sorry for---I didn’t think. Because you’re just... wonderful. And I’m, like, this silly undergrad, and probably not very cool, and---”

“Stop that,” Hongseok cuts in, underpinning it by digging his nails into Jinho's waist, just briefly. Jinho blinks and inhales on a startled noise. “Seriously, stop selling yourself short,” Hongseok adds, his gaze fixed on Jinho's face. “Shouldn’t you know better, given how many people are hitting on you on a daily basis? Do you have any idea how much glaring I’ve had to do those last couple of months? I may be due for a Botox shot soon, and I’ll get you stuck with the bill.”

Thinking is a bit difficult, what with the way Jinho is straddling Hongseok's lap. Oh, wow. Jinho is straddling Hongseok's lap; he’s had dreams that went like this.

“You glare at people?” he remembers to ask. “Because of me?”

“When you’re not looking.” Hongseok's smile is playful while his fingers slide lower, dipping towards Jinho's bum. The other hand explores the length of Jinho's spine, smoothes upwards to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. “If there’s one thing my siblings have taught me, it's to be protective of what's mine.”

Mine.

The word reverberates in Jinho's head, mine mine mine, spikes his pulse. His voice comes out raspy, even deeper than usual. “Yours?”

“Mine.” Hongseok nods sharply, and if it weren’t for the tension around his eyes, he’d seem perfectly composed. There’s a breathy quality to his follow-up question, too. “If you want?”

“I want,” Jinho tells him, quick and certain. He’s about to say more, words that stumble through his brain in their haste to be heard, only then Hongseok grins, so very bright and happy. Time freezes for a moment.

“Good.” Hongseok tugs Jinho's head down, tilting his own head back so that their mouths are a breath’s width apart. His words come out as a whisper. “That’s settled, then.”

Since the choice is between answering and kissing Hongseok, it’s not much of a competition.

Hongseok meets him with his lips already parted, and there’s morning breath and the sour taste of alcohol, but there’s also Hongseok, Hongseok, Hongseok, and that’s possibly the best thing that’s happened to Jinho.

 

 

 

Hongseok burns four slices of toast and adds so much salt that the bacon is inedible. The fruit salad he makes specifically for Jinho is pretty good, though.

Also, Jinho isn’t about to complain when they spend most of the breakfast preparation time kissing against the work surface. Hair still damp from their shower, they grind against each other in a mildly distracted manner, sort of working their way towards a third round while their tea is growing cold.

They startle apart only when Hwitaek throws a dirty sock at them. “Finally,” he crows. “Yuto owes me twenty-two thousand won. Thank you, motherfuckers.”

“You bet on us?” Jinho asks, and when he glances down at himself, he notices the obvious bulge in his boxer briefs. Yeah, that’s why wearing boxer briefs around Hongseok is never a good idea.

Then again, the way Hongseok's gaze drops, caught for a second as Hongseok wets his lips, makes it seem like a very, very good idea.

“Get a room,” Hwitaek groans from somewhere far away.

Hongseok flips him off blindly, eyes still on Jinho. “We got two. Think we’re gonna turn one of them into a playroom, maybe the one that’s sharing a wall with Hwitaek’s room. Sound good?”

“Fuck off,” Hwitaek says. A moment later, he pushes into their midst to give both of them a quick, happy embrace, coupled with a slap of Jinho's ass that makes Hongseok frown. It’s faintly ridiculous and a lot wonderful.

Reaching out, Jinho pulls Hongseok into a tight hug and leans on his tippy-toes to press his mouth to the smooth skin behind Hongseok's ear. “Yours,” he utters, has said it so often in the space of an hour that it feels like a mantra.

“Yours, too,” Hongseok replies, equally quiet.

“Chest pains,” Hwitaek calls from the sink. “Stomach ache, cavities, go away.”

Hongseok's eyes crinkle at the corners, fully focused on Jinho. “Your room or mine?”

Jinho smiles back. “Ours.”

That’s not an answer, of course. But who cares when it brightens Hongseok's eyes and makes him move in for another kiss, the knuckles of one hand pressing into the fleshy bit of Jinho's hip. Ours, Jinho thinks.

So maybe it is an answer, only to a different question.


End file.
